So, the issue was respect. I had said that I realized that not everyone would approve of me or my choices, past and present.
I said I was, in fact, “a virtual immorality trifecta.”
I did like that turn of phrase.
So, I can’t control someone’s opinion of me. All I can do is decide for myself what is right and wrong and behave accordingly. The opinion anyone else holds of me is irrelevant.
What is relevant is my opinion of myself. I have to look myself in the eyes every night, and wake up to myself every morning. I know all my worst qualities, the pettiness and unkindness that lives there, as it does with anyone.
You know that part of yourself you don’t like to admit to...Read More
R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Find out what it means to me, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Take care, TCB…
So, I was thinking about respect. We make that such a tenet of our construct here, and respect is one of our cornerstones.
Everybody wants respect. Sometimes, anyway.
Respect is not a lengthy list of specific rules and regulations centering on how you expect to be treated.
It’s a reflection of the way you feel about other people as demonstrated by your behavior towards them.
By the same token, honor is not an empty term to be dusted off as convenient then returned to the shelf when it comes to one’s own behavior.
I cannot control the actions of the general public, nor do I plan to try.
I cannot walk around with a rule book that I pass out before someone speaks to me so they are certain to afford me the respect ...Read More
I had one written, I swear.
A decent one.
I was actually proud of myself because I have been so behind, I haven’t commented or responded to comments, I’m a bad person, and I had actually written a post.
I’ve been so busy with Bluegrass and I will be for another three weeks, I’m behind everywhere.
I had it ready, I hit publish.
Usually I cut and paste it to be sure, but I didn’t, of course.
And it’s gone, and I can’t find it and there’s no draft for it and I logged in so I shouldn’t have lost it, but I somehow did.
I might go cry.Read More
I read an interesting blog by jade, on Queen Bees and service. I recommend you read it, here, it’s really an interesting entry.
I think that often one of the things that’s hard for people to understand about being a dominant is that being served is not always as easy as it might seem.
For one thing, being served well requires training someone in how you like to be served and that means, then, that you put up with less than ideal service for a while, because no one is going to get it right the first time.
I often use tea as an example in explaining service.
I drink a lot of hot tea. I think I’ve had four or five pots of tea today...Read More
jade, over at The Chrysanthemum and The Sword, wrote an interesting post – well, I find that many of the posts she writes are particularly interesting.
Anyway, she talked about “The Perfect Slave,” and “The Perfect Master.”
Perfection has honestly never been that appealing to me.
I think, for one thing, that I would find perfection in a slave somewhat intimidating.
If, for instance, you’re a perfect slave but I find a flaw – I don’t like the way you fold my towels or the food you cook – then doesn’t that rather imply the flaw is with me?
If you’re perfect, then I have to be perfect, too.
And I am not perfect, nor do I aspire to be.
I aspire to be many things, a kind person, a good leader, a wise dominant, but I do not aspire to be perfect.
Perfection is so confining...Read More
So I am officially thankful.
I am thankful that the dining room got put back together so the living room could get put back together so the kitchen could be put back together so we could do a Thanksgiving gathering.
It wasn’t a LOT of people, 14 in all, but any more would have been too tight, particularly when an actual meal was involved for about half of them, albeit in three shifts.
The food was good – I’m a good cook, and I have put on enough big meals that I know how to do it, how to make things come out at about the right time, etc.
My favorite part, though, was after the meal, or at least after the first shift of the meal. I knew it would be. It was the time when we were all gathered in the living room – a decent-sized room – and that’s always my favorite part.
The wo...Read More
I spent a good deal of years working in healthcare accounting. I understand cost reports and step-down allocations, volume and intensity based budgeting and reporting, and a lot of other boring things.
I used to think, on cold mornings especially, I wish I didn’t have to go to work, blech, I don’t want to go to work…
My drive to work took me by the Wayside Christian Mission.
Standing outside the doors as I drove off to my job was a line of people, waiting for the Mission to open, waiting to come in out of the cold, waiting for a hot meal, waiting for such small things that I took for granted.
It always made me ashamed that I had complained.
As crazy as my mother was, and as poor as we were, she gave me a clear understanding of how lucky I WAS.
I never went hungry; my mother did.
I knew t...Read More
I’ve talked before about my first event, which was Black Rose 10, in November of 1997.
It was called Black Rose 10 because it was a party to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the Black Rose organization, out of Washington, D.C.
My submissive at the time was Bill, who lived outside Chicago and was some minor Republican elected official, one that sent him to Washington on a fairly regular basis.
Who knows, maybe he wasn’t so minor of an official. If I could only remember anything other than Bill, I might be able to find out, but then, I’d have to be particularly interested, too, and I’m not, so there’s that.
Anyway, Bill spent enough time in D.C. that he knew about BR and knew about the party, and wanted to go and wanted me to go with him.
I don’t know what I expected, or what I knew abou...Read More
So, perhaps this is a bad title because, to be truthful, I don’t remember my first scene.
But doesn’t it seem like the next kind of first?
So, anyway, though I don’t remember it, there are things I do remember about those kind of firsts.
I remember my first girlfriend kind of ashamedly asking me to tie her to the bed.
I remember not being disturbed by it. I don’t know that I had ever thought of it before, not really, but it didn’t shock or worry me. It was more of a sense of, Oh, ok, well this is interesting, I wonder how you tie someone to a bed..?
I figured it out, btw.
I now have to re-rope my bed every five or six years.
You know, the rope slips or starts to fray or drops to some impossible to retrieve place…
Anyway, I remember she really liked it.
I remember I let her o...Read More
As those who know me very well know, I love poetry. I have memorized poetry since I was 12 or so. My mother memorized poetry, too. She was as likely to recite poetry to me as to read to me.
One of my favorite poets is Sara Teasdale, one of those tragic female poets who offs themselves before 50. She was the love of Vachel Lindsay, another tragic poet that committed suicide in true poetic fashion, drinking a bottle of lye.
In any case, one of the continuing themes I have always found in her work, and likely one of the reasons I identified with her, even then, was dominance and submission. I could name – and recite – at least a dozen poems of her that have a strong flavor of D/s.
The single poem of hers in which I see that dynamic so strongly is this one...Read More